


The First Date – Mycroft’s POV

by Blood_Sucker_1428



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Cute, F/M, First Date, First Dates, Humour, Mycroft is bad with people, Romance, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Sucker_1428/pseuds/Blood_Sucker_1428
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 86 of "A First Time For Everything" from Mycroft's POV. </p>
<p>Mycroft Holmes doesn’t date people, he has no interest in it. But say, hypothetically he wanted to take his assistant out on a date, how should he do it? He certainly wouldn’t make a fool of himself and ask her like any bumbling fool… Mythea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Date – Mycroft’s POV

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you I’d find time to write this in the semester break! I FINALLY did it! As you may know, I did a poll for what chapter should be done in Myc’s POV. It was close for a while but eventually the first date chapter came to a decent lead. I am really happy with how this turned out so I hope you do too. Please read, review and enjoy!
> 
> This is a chapter of my Mythea fic “A First Time For Everything” written in Mycroft’s point of view rather than Anthea’s. It could be read without the original but I’d suggest not for back story reasons. Be warned, AFTFE is long.
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Date.

Noun.

Definition number 4 in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

A: An appointment to meet at a specified time; _especially_ : a social engagement between two persons that often has a romantic character.

B: A person with whom one has a usually romantic date.

_Hmmm…_

By part a of this definition it would seem to Mycroft Holmes that despite his best efforts not to become romantically involved with anyone, Alice Clarke – aka Anthea James – and he had begun _dating_ as soon as they began their understanding. However, she was not his _date._ She was not someone whom he usually met under romantic situations. No, they usually met under work obligations. Not to mention this understanding of theirs’ had quite the platonic feel to it.

For the most part.

So, hypothetically, if one wanted to begin dating someone what they needed to do was take a social engagement and turn it into something romantic. There didn’t have to be any of those awkward prepositions or declaration of fledgling feelings with fear of rejection. None of that nonsense. All that had to be done, according to this definition, was add a romantic character.

For example, if Mycroft wished to date Anthea James he need only to take her some place… nice.

Well.

That was that hypothetical question answered.

No need to dwell on that further.

…

But what would be considered nice enough? A symphony? An elegant meal? Dancing? God forbid.

This might require some research… Purely to satisfy Mycroft’s curiosity on the subject having never dated before.

It wasn’t important of course.

He wasn’t going to do anything with this information.

He just wanted to know.

Just in case.

In case he consider possibly, maybe dating Miss James.

Possibly this weekend.

Maybe Saturday.

Hypothetically.

* * *

 

Mycroft was mentally cursing himself out that weekend as he found himself standing outside of Anthea’s flat waiting for her to answer the door.

It was stupid.

He was nervous, bordering on shaking, and this entire thing was stupid.

Curse his curiosity.

Curse his moment of weakness and giving into whimsy.

Curse these stupid emotions that never stayed away for every.

And especially, most particularly, curse Miss James with her playful smiles and her elegant demeanour. Mycroft should have never hired her. Never. He’d learnt his lesson. Hire smart, yes, but don’t hire someone whom you get along with. It only leads to complications. Complications like this mess right here.

The door opened. Mycroft met Anthea eye to eye and as she took him in she smiled. That stupid, lovely smile of hers. He didn’t notice that she’d straightened her hair until later, he didn’t care what make up she was wearing. It was that coy smile, that ‘I know something you don’t know’ look she had that made her so… so…

 “Hello, you.” Anthea peeped in a happy tony as she stepped out of her flat and closed the door behind her. It was then, in the lightness of her tone did Mycroft notice she was wearing a light colour for once. Pink was not a colour she often wore but my, did it bring out a girlishness in her. A psychological effect no doubt, but was the colour effecting how she was acting or how he viewed her?

Enough of that. Mycroft should be speaking somewhere about now…

 “Good evening, Anthea.” He nodded. Does he normally nod? Yes. Maybe? Why was he over thinking this? Because of some stupid romantic pretence…

But this was supposed to have that romantic feel. It was a date, after all. Dates apparently had to have _that type of thing_ attached to it.

Right.

So.

What does one usually do at this stage of a date? In films the gentleman or the one organising the date usually compliments the other person. Mycroft remembers his father complimenting his mother all the time and even if she saw through his words, it always seemed to brighten Mummy’s mood.

Okay. So a compliment. That was easy. Mycroft complimented Anthea all the time. So what should he compliment?

Mycroft pursed his lips as he quickly looked over Anthea. The obvious choice was the dress. He’d already noted its effect on one or both of them and it was something particularly different. All he had to do is put it into words.

 “You don’t wear lighter shades often.” Mycroft mumbled. Anthea tilted her head to the side, clearly confused. And she had a right to be. Where was the compliment in that? Mycroft’s brow knotted. “It does wonders for you complexion.” A single laugh escaped Anthea’s lips as her eyes light up.

 “Thank you?” She shrugged, humour dancing in her words. Mycroft scratched at his eyebrow with his ring finger and inhaled sharply. No, that did not sound like a compliment. It sounded… Well, it sounded like something he or Sherlock would say about anyone. One of those things that people thought were insults. This wasn’t setting up the _date_ atmosphere very well, was it?

 “What I meant to say,” Mycroft restarted. “Is that you look nice this evening.” Anthea’s face softened.

 “I know you did. I’m just teasing.” She stroked his arm and Mycroft’s whole body seemed to freeze and tense under it. It’s not like he wasn’t used to Anthea’s affectionate little touches, their understanding was beginning to become littered with her little touches here and there. But this… Given what today was… It felt like all Mycroft’s barriers were back up.

_Good Lord, is this what it feels like to go on a first date? Thank the heavens I don’t normally do this. The stress would kill me._

 “Is something wrong?” Anthea’s words pulled Mycroft out of his own head. “Because as both your assistant and your friend, you know I should hear about it.” Mycroft tried to play it off. He placed a fake smile firmly on his lips and waved Anthea off with an elegant flick of his hand and a small shrug.

 “No, everything is absolutely fine, my dear.” It sounded too fake, and he knew she’d see through it. “I only worry because we have reservations and we’re bordering on being late.” Anthea’s eyes narrowed on Mycroft’s face. She’d definitely seen through it. He could see that she was going to let it go, though, when she licked her bottom lips and her eyebrows quirked up.

 “Okay.” She answered with a few nods. “Where are we going tonight? It wasn’t in your calendar.” Yes, he knew it wasn’t in the calendar. How does one explain adding a personal event titled ‘date’ to your assistant who happens to be the person going on this date? And how would it be a surprise if she could look at all the details? Mycroft pressed the down button on Anthea’s elevator.

 “Nowhere you know, my dear.” He answered, feeling a tad calmer now they were leaving together. “A restaurant I hope you’ll enjoy.”

* * *

 

The nerves returned as soon as they were at the restaurant. The stupid nonsensical nerves. What was there to be nervous about? Everything apparently. He hoped the music was nice, he hoped the menu was to Anthea’s liking, he hoped the waiter wasn’t annoying, and most of all he hoped that Anthea had a pleasant time.

Which she was not, apparently. Anthea looked mildly uncomfortable from the moment they stepped inside. She took one look around and her jaw was clenched enough that Mycroft could tell by looking at the tenseness of her neck. She’d wrinkled her nose at the wine menu, and now she was actually gritting her teeth as she looked over the dinner menu.

That was… not good. It was the price, wasn’t it?

 “The menu is expensive…” Anthea spoke through her gritted teeth. “Where do they get their produce from?” Ah, it was the price. Mycroft pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on his menu, not daring to look up at the brunette woman across the table. Surely she didn’t think she was paying for any of it. It was a date. This was him setting up a date like atmosphere. As the gentleman he was he would take care of it. He just wanted her to have a… nice night.

 “Don’t worry about the price, my dear.” He tried to assure her. “Order whatever you like.” The brief pause that followed was full of tension.

 “Mycroft…” He didn’t like that tone. That tone made him anxious.

 “It doesn’t matter, really.” Mycroft finally looked up from his menu to meet Anthea’s eyes. She looked uncomfortable and suspicious. Certainly not that romantic air that the dictionary had suggested. He needed to try to take some of the discomfort away. Assure her that he wanted to do this. “I’ll know if you order based on price and I won’t stand for it.” He tried to sound more like himself. Anthea tilted her head and opened her mouth, about to argue. Probably insisting that she pay for her portion. Mycroft beat her to it. “No, you can’t split the bill, no you can’t pay for the wine, and no you can’t try to pay me back by buying one of your gifts.” They both cracked a small smile. “Pick something.” Mycroft implored. “Please.” Anthea’s eyes shifted to look off into the distance and sigh, a sign that she may be giving in. She turned back to her menu with a quirked eyebrow.

 “Fine. I’ll place nice.” She muttered.

Crisis averted.

The tension was still there but it had lessened faintly. That was some sort of improvement.

* * *

 

The main course was taking an eternity to arrive. Anthea and Mycroft were just sat at their table waiting for it to arrive. The tension was palpable and the silence strangling. Mycroft found himself tracing the rim of his wineglass with his index finger simply for something to do. Without that small repetitive action he’d be going crazy. Anthea watched him, watched his finger dance around the rim. She was most likely using it as a distraction also. How fantastically shocking this date was going so far. Mycroft was almost one hundred percent certain that a date should not be this stifling. Nor should it be awkward when the participants knew each other as well as these two knew each other.

Something had to be done.

Alright. Dates. What did one normally do on a date? What happened in books, films, and from observation?

Small talk. Unfortunately. Lots of small talk. It was required that one faked an interest in their date, at least on the first date. After that you could attempt to veto subjects.

Okay, it was time to attempt small talk. Mycroft folded his hands together on his lap and cleared his throat. He looked up at Anthea, trying to appear open and interested. Anthea looked concerned so he was probably successful.

 “So, Anthea…” Mycroft trailed off as he tried to search for a topic close to Anthea’s heart. “How is Miss Thompson finding her new house?” At first Anthea’s eyebrow quirked up, surprised at the subject. But soon after she relaxed her features and answered the question.

 “She loves it.” Anthea nodded. “A flat is too limiting. She has too much stuff. James is discovering that.” Anthea’s nose crinkled and Mycroft sniffed a single laugh. He could very much imagine poor James not knowing what to do with all Jamie’s items. Anthea’s flat had been littered with boxes.

 “I believe you said she likes to leave shoes all around?” Mycroft attempted a follow up question.

 “You saw my flat.” Anthea laughed. Good. Laughter was good.

 “I can only imagine that would baffle James to no end.” Say what you will about the agent, he was trained to be organised.

 “Yeah, it does.” Anthea nodded.

Silence fell. That was it. That was the end of the conversation. Mycroft had nothing else to ask and Anthea had nothing else to add. Almost in unison Anthea and Mycroft reached for their glass of red wine and took a sip.

Mycroft had to keep this small talk going. However uncomfortable it might be for him it had indeed released the tension. It had made Anthea laugh. He needed to keep going.

 “And how is…” A pause as Mycroft scowled. “ _Robbie?_ ” The nickname tasting foul on Mycroft’s tongue. Anthea shot up straight in her chair, eyes full of alert, placing her hands on the very edges of the table.

 “Okay Mycroft.” She breathed. “Asking about Jamie is one thing, but Robbie?” Mycroft’s steel orbs searched Anthea’s dark eyes. “What is going on here?” She asked, widening her eyes. “What is up with all of this?” Oh dear… Did she really have no clue what was going on? Mycroft pouted to himself. Anthea was an astute woman, surely she knew what he was doing. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.

 “My dear, isn’t it obvious?” He asked, the return of strange anxious feelings making him talk down to her a little.

 “Well,” Anthea laughed. “I have two theories ad they both seem very unlikely to me. So please,” The brunette scooted forward in her seat, feigning a smile. “Spell it out for me.” Silence fell once more as Mycroft’s searched Anthea’s face for any sign that she knew what he was doing…

No.

None.

Mycroft’s expression fell.

Ah, so this had failed tremendously. Mycroft had tried to avoid this type of talk desperately. He didn’t want to do this part of it all and wanted to skip over it. It seemed so elegant and Anthea smart enough to see what was happening. As it turns out, maybe this whole romantic thing wasn’t as easy as he thought it might be. And he knew it was going to take skill and effort.

Mycroft tried to prepare himself to just come out and say what was happening here. To look Anthea calmly in the eye and tell her his intentions. And yet he could not rip his eyes away from his wine glass.

 “This.” Mycroft tried to start but fell short. He blinked and cleared his throat. “We’re.” He stopped again. Anthea crossed her legs and waited, and Mycroft couldn’t even look up to appreciate how her hair framed her face at this moment. Mycroft closed his eyes and moved his head. He needed to find his stable footing. Deep breaths and a count of ten should do it. Then he opened his eyes to try again but still could not lift his gaze to meet hers. “I’ve decided to start…”

He choked on the word.

_Say it._

_You moron, spit it out._

“Courting you, Miss Clarke.” Close enough.  Far more elegant anyway. Anthea’s face drained of all colour as her brows both knitted together and rose. She was a vision of confusion. She looked like she might even be sick. That was not the best of signs.

 “Is this a date?” Anthea asked, her voice falling a whole octave as she leaned in to the table. “Mycroft, are you? Do you? Are we dating?” How does one take that kind of reaction? This was not ideal, nor was it at all comfortable. Mycroft looked off to the side, following a waiter across the room, frowning to himself. How he’d much prefer to be the waiter earning a measly wage tonight than sitting right here.

 “I suppose. If you want to be common about it.” He mumbled, defensive mechanisms kicking in to save him from further embarrassment. Anthea rested her elbow on the table and buried her face within her hands. This was getting worse with every passing moment. Maybe Mycroft would get lucky and someone in here would shoot him right now. “I presumed this would be acceptable.”

 “No, it’s not acceptable.” Anthea yelled as she lowered her hands, gaining glares from across the restaurant. Mycroft offered one or two a fierce glare in return. “Mycroft, you can’t do that.” Anthea hissed at him. “You can’t just decide we’re dating without asking me.”

But… The initial date doesn’t have to lead to further dates. This was him asking, this date was the expression to continue the romantic feeling he had so stunningly failed to create tonight. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. This… He had tried to… He thought…

 “I thought it was fairly clear.” He hadn’t felt this small since he was twelve. Something in Mycroft’s expression triggered a softening in Anthea’s own expression.

 “Just because you know things, doesn’t mean I do.”  She took a moment to steady herself. “You know how Sherlock talks to John when John’s not ever there? You make decisions and presume I know you’ve made them.” But she usually did… “I know you very well, Mycroft, but I don’t think the way you do.” She scratched at her neck, looking at the roof for a second. “This isn’t just some decision you made in reaction to Sherlock, is it?” She asked, her mouth tight with concern. “You’re not going to wake up tomorrow and decide it was a horrible mistake? Because I can’t do another NDA.” A pain since passed flicker through her eyes and it made Mycroft’s chest ache.

 “Heavens no!” Mycroft whispered harshly, frowning. His heartrate had severely gone up. God no. No. He wasn’t going to do that again, not if he could help it. And Sherlock? Sherlock’s lonely comments had absolutely nothing to do with this. They had sparked an idea, but the idea would not have taken root and bore fruit had Mycroft not entirely agreed with it. “Sherlock did say a few comments in passing that might have led to this decision. But I assure you, this has nothing to do with spiting my brother.”

…

 “Oh, Mycroft.”

Anthea once again buried her face in her hands.

She looked so small and lost.

She looked confused and angry and pained.

This had…

This might be.

Mycroft might have done the wrong thing. In an attempt once more to spare himself from feelings he might have hurt Anthea’s when she already guarded them safely. Particularly those of the heart.

He watched her. He watched as she wanted to be eaten by the ground and he too wanted to disappear. Or help her. Whatever was easier. Most likely getting her home and feeling safe was the easiest option.

 “Did you…” Anthea looked up with a tired expression. “Not want to do this?” Mycroft pulled out his from his breast pocket. “I can organise for Walter to pick you up.”

 “No, don’t call Walter.” Anthea sighed and sat up once more. She ran her hands through her straightened hair as she shook off negative emotions. “Now that I know, let’s just try this from the top, okay?” Mycroft felt his heart slow back to a normal rhythm as he watched Anthea take a gulp of her wine. Unsure as to whether Anthea was just pitying the poor weird genius or not he watched a little longer before finally putting his phone away. “And you’re trying too hard, Myc.” A soft sweet smile crossed Anthea’s face. “Just be yourself, and now I know what’s happening I’ll help it along.”

Oh, help! Thank the heavens for any help. She could stop him from drowning and taking her with him. Maybe that stupid tension would go now.

* * *

 

The town car pulled up to Anthea’s building and both she and Mycroft got out. Mycroft at least had enough knowledge on the subject to know it was only polite to walk Anthea up to her home. His gloved hand went to open the door into the flat complex when Anthea held her hand up in the air, smirk on her face, halting Mycroft’s actions.

 “Nooo.” Anthea sung playfully, far more relaxed now than earlier. “Proper first dates don’t go past the outside door, not even the ones with absolutely no intentions of trying to get into the flat.” Anthea joked playfully, quirking an eyebrow. Always mischievous that girl. It was so annoying and so refreshing at the same time. Mycroft lowered his hand from the door.

 “Very well.” He folded his hands together in front of him. “You’re the expert.” She’d already proven that tenfold tonight. “What happens now?” He asked. As Anthea’s nose crinkled in response Mycroft knew he was in for some more of her teasing.

 “Well,” She hummed. “What happens if it’s good is I tell the guy I’ll call him, and in a few days I will call him.”

 “A few days?” Mycroft asked. He saw her every day and he had to wait a few days to hear if this date was successful? Really? Anthea’s smile grew and she nodded. “Am I supposed to do anything to increase the chances of this call?” Anthea shrugged.

 “No.” She pouted. “Send me flowers tomorrow and I’ll think you’re needy. With a job like mine I can’t have a needy guy in my life.” Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at that. “So…” The woman bit her lip playfully. She was thinking something over. “I’ll call you.”

That was it?

That was how it ended? ‘I’ll call you’?

No.

No, no, no.

Mycroft might have made a royal mess of the beginning of this date but he did know how to manipulate people. He wasn’t going to end it on ‘I’ll call you’. Particularly not after how wonderfully understanding of this entire mess she had been. Particularly after she’d given him a second chance. And most especially not after crinkling her nose and biting her lip. She couldn’t just play with him like that.

It was also required to set the romantic tone to make this a real date was it not?

And she deserved it. For being so wonderful, and assuring, and for practically glowing in a feminine pink dress.

 “I do believe there is one first date tradition that may help my chances.” Mycroft hummed.

 “Oh?” Anthea asked. Her cheeks turned pink. Mycroft placed his hand on Anthea’s arm, leaned in, and gently kissed her on her soft pink cheek. He felt her breath on his neck as she exhaled shakily and it caused his chest to ache once more. Mycroft pulled away, folding his hands together once more.

 “Goodnight, my dear.” Mycroft hummed melodically. Anthea stepped backwards, he eyes glued to Mycroft, as she felt for the doorhandle behind her.

 “I’ll call you.” She repeated in a breathy voice. Quickly she turned on her heels and entered her building.

That ending was far more successful.

Now to wait for that blasted phone call.

* * *

 

It seemed almost out of the blue at first when it came out of her mouth on Monday morning. Only afterwards did Mycroft realise it was partly out of fear and partly out of respect.

Mycroft and Anthea were going over their schedule for the week, business as usual, when she turned to Mycroft with a strange expression.

 “Do you have any regrets over the weekend, sir?” She asked in such a professional tone. Mycroft paused.

 “Regrets? He questioned. She tried to look cool and calm, play it off, but her eyes had a spark of something in them.

 “Nothing you want to take back? No decisions you made that might have been the wrong one?” It was then that Mycroft could see what Anthea was doing. She was giving him a chance to pull out of this mess cleanly liked they’d promised each other. A nice clean break with no hard feelings. The real question was;

 “Why would I?”

No response. The personal assistant just nodded and got back to business as usual.

* * *

 

The week passed and it was Friday. Not just Friday, but the end of the working day on Friday. Early Friday evening was more than a few days. If Mycroft was expected to wait a few days for a call then he might as well not expect one now. His patience was running dry.

Mycroft exited his office and came to stand just outside his door as he watched the woman in question. She was packing away her items preparing to go home. She acted completely innocent and completely happy. She also knew he was there.

 “Can I help you, sir?” She asked so innocently as she twirled around in her chair to smile up at the genius. Playful expression on her soft features as she played coy. He kept his face neutral as he tried to unnerve her just a little for making him wait so long. He ran his tongue over his teeth. She could wait a few more seconds so he clicked his tongue and looked down at his shoes.

 “It’s almost been a week, Miss James.” He hummed in his neutral work tone like it was an instruction. Anthea almost smiled but stopped herself. She was enjoying this.

 “I know, sir.” Sarcasms. Of course. Mycroft looked up with a bored expression to meet her face.

A moment passed.

 “That’s all.” Mycroft dismissed her. Anthea went back to packing her items like nothing had happened and Mycroft waltzed back into her office as if it were just another work talk.

* * *

 

Mycroft had not been home more than five minutes when his mobile began to ring. He sighed to himself as it did so. Work was never done, there was always a crisis to be put out somewhere or another. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and looked at the number.

It was Anthea. What now? He rolled his eyes and pressed accept.

 “Yes, my dear. What is it?” He didn’t try to keep the exasperation from his voice.

_“Mycroft Holmes?”_ Anthea’s voice on the other side sung. Mycroft frowned to himself. _“It’s Alice Clarke.”_ Oh. She was playing a game. This was his phone call at long last and little curious Alice had turned it into one of her games.

 “Alice? From last weekend?” Mycroft feigned trying to search his memories, going along with the silly game.

_“Sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I’ve been really busy. My boss is this Ice man who works his employees too hard.”_ She moaned. Mycroft chuckled. Very well, if she wanted to play it that way he’d oblige.

 “Oh, that’s quite alright. I’m sure he’s the absolute worst.” Mycroft was rewarded by the light sound of Alice’s laughter.

_“You have no idea.”_ She sighed. _“So listen, I had fun on Saturday and was wondering if you wanted to do it again sometime?”_ Mycroft pursed his lips to stop from smirking. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, Mycroft managed to pull out his laptop from his briefcase and power the machine on.

 “Certainly.” He answered quite happily as he logged on. “Allow me a moment to email my assistant to see when I have some time available.” He knew when he was free. He knew next Friday would be the best option, but why ruin Alice’s cleverly crafter game when it was going so well?

_“No rush.”_ Alice answered as Mycroft typed.

**_Anthea,_ **

**_When do I have a rather large opening for a social visit? I should like to make it rather soon. It’s quite important._ **

**_M.H._ **

 “I shouldn’t think it will take long.” Mycroft said as he hit send. “She’s a tad dim-witted, but she keeps a tight schedule.” He got her back for her comments about him. Alice barked out laughter in shock and then in pure levity.

  _“That’s a shame”_ She was still laughing. _“Good help must be hard to come by.”_

 “You should meet this agent fellow who works for me. Dumb as a post.”

  _“Is he blonde?”_ She asked in the straightest and most flat tone. _“He sounds like a blonde.”_ She was so good at these games of her. Mycroft might even be enjoying himself.

His email chimed.

**_Mr. Holmes,_ **

**_Next Friday we have a meeting from 8am to 11am, but after that you are entirely free._ **

**_A._ **

 “Oh, will you look at that.” Mycroft hummed. “It appears that I have the perfect opening for a lunch date on Friday afternoon. Would that be suitable?” He could hear Alice humming in thought on the other end.

_“I’d have to make sure with my boss that I’m free,”_ She continued the game. _“But yeah, I think next Friday would be great.”_ Mycroft sniffed a laugh and smirked. And then against his own will the smirk turned into a rather honest smile.

 “Excellent. I’ll have my assistant fill you in on the details.”

_“I’ll see you then.”_ Oh, there was that odd sensation in his chest again.

 “I’ll see you then, Alice, dear.”

…

  _“Bye Mycroft.”_ How did she do that? How could she make his chest ache like that?

 “Goodnight, Alice.”

Click.

_Oh, Alice…_

**Author's Note:**

> How was that? Okay? I really liked how this turned out and I really hope you guys found it worth the wait. It was a lot of fun to write this one from Myc’s point of view. I thoroughly look forward to your reviews. Thanks so much for reading.


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